Rain assaults the abandoned house,
trees bend and sway in the driving wind.
Wolves growl and snarl,
pulling their young in close.
The ground parts,
and yields the fires of hell.
Trailing tendons and bits of flesh,
they claw their way up from the ground.
The witching hour came early,
on this dark and stormy night.
Beware the shadows and what they hold,
for the devil’s army has risen tonight.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem